David Whiting's Memorial Day column: A soldier's legacy never dies

May 24, 2015

Updated May 29, 2015 9:57 a.m.

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Debi Win'E, mother of Army Spc. Trevor Anthony Win'E, who was killed in Iraq in 2004, holds his picture outside her home in Orange, where her husband, Rick, built a stone American flag. She says she believes the world is more good than evil. MINDY SCHAUER, STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER

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Debi and Rick Win'E of Orange keep a Gold Star flag in the front window of their Orange home, honoring their son Army SPC Trevor Anthony Win'E who was killed in Iraq in 2004.

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A photo of Trevor Anthony Win'E, taken when he was about 20. Win'E died in 2004 died from injuries sustained in an attack by an improvised explosive device. Courtesy photo

Debi Win'E, mother of Army Spc. Trevor Anthony Win'E, who was killed in Iraq in 2004, holds his picture outside her home in Orange, where her husband, Rick, built a stone American flag. She says she believes the world is more good than evil. MINDY SCHAUER, STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER

Rick Win’E is two-thirds of his way across this nation on the back of a Harley riding in formation with a few thousand motorcyclists on something called Run for the Wall. But this is no fun run.

The plan was to arrive in Arlington, Va., on Memorial Day weekend, and the inspiration for the cross-country run is to “ride for those who can’t.”

Win’E, a man of few words but much action, rides to honor every man and woman who died serving their country. Still, as a little photo taped to his windshield testifies, more than anything Win’E rides to honor his son, Trevor, killed by an improvised explosive device while serving as a gunner on a truck in Iraq at age 22.

With hundreds of people lining streets and waving the stars and stripes in every town the motorcyclists ride through, Win’E finds affirmation in the patriotism that binds this nation together. He also finds kinship. But most of all he finds healing.

To some, it may seem odd that Win’E is thousands of miles from his wife, Debi, just weeks after the 11th anniversary of their son’s death. But in some respects, the couple were never closer.

It is Monday, one week ago, and as I talk to Debi Win’E the phone rings. It is her husband calling to check in. “He needs this. He did the ride last year for the first time and it really helped. I’m glad he went back this year.”

Nearly all the motorcyclists with him are veterans. And more than any civilian, they understand the brotherhood of blood and the importance of honoring our dead.

Memorial Day isn’t about war. It’s about finding peace.

DUTY AND COURAGE

Words come easily for Debi Win’E, the talker of the couple. And she is refreshingly open about the sometimes closed world of military deaths. But making sense of a child’s death? Well, that’s just impossible.

“Some days are good days,” she quietly allows. “Other days you go back to bed.”

As we sit at the dining room table in the Win’Es’ restored Craftsman-style home near downtown Orange, Debi Win’E remembers her last-born child, her baby who grew up to become a man yet didn’t have the chance to marry, to have children of his own.

In her typically honest way, Debi offers, “We always make (those who serve) saints when they die. But that’s not always so.”

She shows me some items in her home honoring Trevor’s military service. A small banner hangs in a front window marking the home as that of a Gold Star Mother, moms who have lost a child in service to country. Still, she points out her home isn’t a shrine to her son.

Understand, Debi is a very modest, grounded and giving woman. At one ceremony honoring her son, she said, “This isn’t just for Trevor. It’s for the other Gold Star Families and for the soldiers he served with.”

She also is determined to remember Trevor for the boy, the teenager, the young man he was – not a manufactured hero. “He wasn’t the smartest, he wasn’t the dumbest. But he was my kid, so that makes him special.”

In truth, of course, this American soldier was one very cool guy. Understand, Trevor enlisted within months after 9/11, at a time when our country was gearing up for battle in a foreign land.

Like any mother, Debi was hoping her son would enlist in a branch that didn’t specialize in ground pounding. She suggested, “How about some safe ship?”

But Trevor wanted his boots firmly on the ground.

He played soldier as a boy, even had his own little uniform. He dreamed of service. Growing up, he loved the mountains and snowboarding, just as he loved the ocean where he learned to scuba dive.

While a student at Calvary Chapel High School, he dabbled in band, took up golf and developed a passion for ice hockey. On the second floor of the Win’E home there is a trophy from his former teammates.

Yes, the Win’E family isn’t alone in thinking Trevor was special.

‘GREAT SOLDIER’

By the time he was 20, Trevor was on his own and working at Chemco, installing chemical operating systems. The Army jumped at the chance to use his skills and knowledge, and Trevor served 171 days in Iraq before the explosion.

At Fort Lee, Va., last year there was a dedication to the “Spc. Trevor A. Win’E PWD Fire Suppression Training Facility.”

“Ten years ago, the logistics world lost a great and unique soldier,” said Lt. Col. John W. Pratt, who was Trevor’s former commander. “It seems like it was just yesterday that the company was getting ready to deploy to Iraq. He was one of a kind – always walking around with a smile, always playful.

“Every time I think of Trevor Win’E, I think of him on the (forward operating base) playing chase around the petroleum farm, as well as him being really dedicated to the mission.”

Pratt made a point of explaining that Trevor was assigned to duty in Korea, but asked to serve with his unit in Iraq.

Today, Trevor’s Army buddies still call to check in, to share. And two plan to visit Debi and Rick this summer and stop by the grave at Fairhaven Memorial Park, just down the road from where the Win’Es live.

Why not Arlington or Riverside National Cemetery? Trevor’s older brother, Todd, who served in the Navy, knew Trevor’s resting place should be close to family.

PEACE AND HONOR

Naturally, the days, weeks and months after Trevor was killed were the worst.

The family learned of Trevor’s death on CNN. Rick broke down when the woman in Army uniform came to their home to officially break the news. Then there were those who felt guilty, who took responsibility.

“Everybody thinks it’s their fault that he died,” Debi explains, offering a very simple answer about what happened. “He died because he died.”

Rick struggled to cope by spending time – a lot of time – at his son’s grave. A contractor and brick layer by trade, he eventually built a slate gray Japanese koi pond in their yard, where gold, white and orange fish glide, the rays from the late afternoon sun bouncing off their shining scales.

After we watch the fish in silence, I break the moment by mentioning that Rick let it be known through a mutual friend that I check out the wall just above the pond.

Brick by brick and in muted tones, Trevor’s father built an elegant and simplified version of an American flag.

The pond and the flag are a unified work of art honoring Trevor. The piece also brings to mind all of our fallen.

Later, Debi puts mourning in perspective. “Trevor wouldn’t want his death to ruin life. He was fun. He was goofy.”

Sure, Memorial Day is about beer, beach and barbecue. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

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